


All the songs I ever sang are yours

by Elesianne



Series: Fëanorian marriages [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Marriage, Mild Sexual Content, Romance, Romantic Fluff, tags may be added later as chapters are added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:21:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26975092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elesianne/pseuds/Elesianne
Summary: A collection of tiny fics about Maglor and his wife Tinweriel.Previously posted on my Tumblr, new chapters will be posted when/if I write new ficlets. Rating is for the highest rated chapter that I intend to post.
Relationships: Maglor | Makalaurë/Maglor's Wife
Series: Fëanorian marriages [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/608221
Comments: 10
Kudos: 22





	1. Blest bridegroom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fluffy, romantic ficlet was inspired, and contains bits from, the poem fragments of Greek lyric poet Sappho (who lived c. 630 – c. 570 BCE) translated by Anne Carson in _If Not, Winter_. This fic incorporates several fragments, putting them in Makalaurë and Tinweriel’s mouths and using them to weave some small scenes during their engagement and wedding. The numbers are the numbers of the fragments.
> 
> Originally posted on Tumblr in May 2020. 415 words.

> 108
> 
> O beautiful O graceful one

when you dance you fill me with longing’, Makalaurë tells her after one of her performances. ‘The way you move your limbs and body is as much music as the music you dance to.’

'When I know that you are watching, I am filled with a new grace and fire’, she confides to him, lips maddeningly close to his ear.

He swallows. 'Half a year until our wedding’, he says, making it sound like a century.

*

She likes thinking of epithets for him, and teasing him with them by calling him by them at strange moments.

> 185
> 
> honeyvoiced

she calls him when he forgets a line of lyrics in the middle of rehearsals,

and

> 190
> 
> manyskilled

when he drops and breaks a cup in his morning-drowsiness, and doesn’t bother fixing it though he could. He has better things to do.

But she praises him, too. On their wedding day, when she sees him for the first time in all his finery and all his joy, she says, a fond, gentler-than-usual smile lighting up her fair face,

> 113
> 
> for no
> 
> other girl
> 
> O bridegroom
> 
> such as this one now

and she takes his hand.

Later she will write, thinking of her own beloved though it is a song written to celebrate another’s wedding,

> 112
> 
> blest bridegroom, your marriage just as you prayed
> 
> has been accomplished
> 
> and you have the bride for whom you prayed
> 
> gracious your form and your eyes
> 
> as honey; desire is poured upon your lovely face
> 
> []

*

> 156
> 
> far more sweetsounding than a lyre
> 
> golder than gold

are the voices and noises I plucked of you this night’, says Tinweriel when they lie in their large new bed, still intertwined, after the physical act that made their marriage promises true. 'And no one will ever hear them but me.’

Makalaurë raises his weary head from her chest which makes a fine pillow for a bridegroom, he thinks. 'Would you share them if you could? Or make an orchestration for the harp and flute out of them?’

'Never’, she swears. 'Our… night-music is for us alone, performers though we are.’

He hums. 'But we can write and compose some new themes now, I think, inspired by our night-music.’

She laughs. 'Ones that will leave the unmarried confused and scandalise the married by their boldness! Yes, let us do that, my love. Together.’

'Tomorrow’, he mumbles.

'Tomorrow’, she agrees, pressing a kiss on his mussed-up silken hair.


	2. Just so

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr in October 2020. 427 words.

'Won't you come to bed, darling? It is very late – the second night in a row for you.'

Makalaurë raises his tired eyes from the parchment in front of him to find his wife in the doorway of his study.

Tinweriel lounges there, one of her arms stretched up along the doorframe, her loosely tied silk robe slipping half-open to hint at treasures hidden beneath. After decades of marriage Makalaurë knows those treasures well, has cherished them time and time again, but the sight of his wife posing so for him never fails to elicit a reaction.

'It is not working', he says, tossing down his quill and rising from his seat. 'I can't make it work. The symphony.'

'Hmm', says Tinweriel, a world of meaning in the meaningless syllable. 'Perhaps you would like to pursue other matters, then?'

'I do have those half-finished poems for the upcoming festival', Makalaurë says with a smirk, edging closer to his wife, as cat-like in his movements as she is. 'I could try them again.'

'I was rather thinking of… marital matters,' Tinweriel says. She is close enough to him now to run her fingers with their crimson-painted nails down his cheek and neck and into the neckline of his tunic, untying the ties at his throat.

'I have a feeling I might find more success with those', Makalaurë smiles. The last of his tiredness is washed away by Tinweriel's answering grin.

He grabs her, throws her over his shoulder – well, hefts rather than throws, as she is just as tall as he is – and carries her to the bedroom. Fortunately it is not far away.

He puts her down on her feet carefully, right next to the bed.

'My head is buzzing with the wrong words, unfound lyrics. I should like not to think for a while', he says, and drops to his knees at her feet.

'Is that so, darling?' asks Tinweriel, her hand slipping to his hair to stroke and pet. She sits down at the edge of the bed.

Makalaurë shuffles closer on his knees, closing that small necessary distance to get close enough to her to smell every facet of the scent of her skin. With a gentle push of his hands he spreads her legs. Tinweriel lets him, opening up for him, untying her robe to confirm his suspicion that she wears nothing underneath it.

'Just so', he replies, settling between her thighs and dipping his head, and his next words he speaks against the most sensitive place of her, and her reply is moaned.

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on Tumblr [here](https://elesianne.tumblr.com/).


End file.
